


Not a Terrible Way to Start the Day

by FortinbrasFTW



Series: Tumblr Prompts - Dragon Age [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Lazy Mornings, Lazy Sex, M/M, Morning After, Morning Sex, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortinbrasFTW/pseuds/FortinbrasFTW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gods,” Dorian swears, “even your stories are tame. Everything about you is so damnably pristine. Well…” his free hand snakes under Cullen’s neck, wrapping around to drag a finger lightly against the scar over his lip. “Almost everything.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Terrible Way to Start the Day

The sun is already to the third flagstone. He knows what that means. The castle below has started to stir. The cooks are probably hard at work already, the stable-hands laying out the first round of feed. Maybe even the morning shift is switching positions up on the battlements, sending soldiers off to bed while others replace them, watching the mountains on all sides soak into the colors of dawn.

He should be up by now. He’s always up by now, up in time to hear the whole place ease into life as light pools down into the courtyard. Although, getting up is a little challenging when there’s an arm slung over his chest. It’s surprisingly heavy for being so lithe. He idly wonders if that’s a mage thing before instantly scolding himself. That’s the type of thing he really shouldn’t think any more. 

Dorian lets out a little snore. It’s barely there, more of a snort really, and Cullen’s smiling despite himself.

He can’t believe he stayed. He’s never stayed before. He wonders if it was more accident than anything else. He’d had quite a bit of wine, and not a slight helping of brandy to wash it down. But no matter what the reason, he’d stayed. His hair’s obnoxiously well behaved even after a night spent pushed against walls and fumbled into bed before collapsing into a drunken sleep. Cullen’s positive his doesn’t look nearly as well off. It’s not that Dorian’s is perfect, far from it, more artfully managed chaos than anything, which is fascinating in contract to the usual preened perfection.

Cullen reaches out, unable to help himself. He slides a hand fully into it, easing his fingertips against his scalp. Dorian lets out a half-conscious hum, melting impossibly deeper into the curve of his side. He must not be properly awake yet or he’d likely be scrambling to get out of there. That or maybe it was more than just drunken happenstance that he remained after all. Cullen suddenly finds himself too curious to not find out.

“’S morning,” he says. His voice is still crackled with sleep. His sister used to tease him about it endlessly. “Cullen The Crone” before he’s been awake long enough to wash-up.

Dorian sighs next to him, but sound seems more protesting, almost whining. Cullen can’t help smiling. He imagines him waking up in Tevinter, all silk sheets and delicate slaves with plates of fresh fruits and soft voices. Spoiled rotten.

“Still here?” Dorian mumbles into the pillows, arm still heavy across his chest.

“Could ask you the same.”

Dorian makes a skeptical huff. “I don’t feel the need to beat the sun in rising, unlike some mad-men.”

Cullen can’t help feeling a slight anxiety playing in his chest. He is always awake by now. People will start to wonder where he is, what’s keeping him. “It is late.”

“Mm, no,” Dorian murmurs. His voice doesn’t seem changed much by sleep or the night before, irritatingly just as musical as it always is. “It was late. Now it’s early.”

He adjusts slightly, easing one thigh over Cullen’s and pressing flush to his side. His erection pulses warm and firm against Cullen’s hip, and wether it’s simply from sleep or interest it something more, Cullen can’t help feeling his own body responding quicker than he’d like.

Dorian’s always warm. Surprisingly warm. He doesn’t know why he expected him to be cold. In the circle the mages hands had always been cold. He’d just assumed that was part of the magic, but now he wonders if it was the cold of the place, the stones, or something else. Maybe confinement chilled the blood more than any hollow keep.

“You stayed,” Cullen says. Dorian’s hair smells different than it had the night before, similar in some ways, the lavender and ylang-ylang, but there’s something else there as well, something that doesn’t feel intentional. Like dust, or dry earth under summer sun. 

“I said I would stay with you lot, much to your chagrin I might remind you. Tevinter doesn’t hold much interest filled with lunatics growing crystals for brains. I’m sure there’s not much waiting in the way of conversation.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dorian rolls his hips against his leg again, the hand on his chest rising to slide along the side of his neck. “I know. It’s called avoidance.”

The morning suddenly seems further away than it had minutes ago. There’s no deny Cullen’s hard by now, but there’s something so much calmer about this moment than the handful of those that have come before. There’s no sense of that furious urgency that pressed him first against the stony stairwell, or a week later back into the space behind a dusty bookcase, or even just last night, in the lonely silence of his office, in a chair altogether too small for two people. No, this is different. There’s a laziness to the lust seeping into his limbs, something indulgent about the way the sun is slipping over the bed and against his skin. 

“I can’t believe you sleep in here,” Dorian says softly, limbs still languid, hand idly tracing the line of a scar against his shoulder. “The rookery is in better condition than this nest.”

“It’s fine,” Cullen says. He can feel his cock jump as Dorian opens his mouth lazily against the side of his neck. “We don’t all need satin and lace.”

“Shows what you know. Lace,” Dorian hums against his pulse-point, “is decidedly rough on the skin.” He rakes the ends of his fingers into Cullen’s hair for emphasis and Cullen hears himself hum.

He can feel Dorian adding a barely noticeable rhythm to his hips against his side. He’s not sure if it’s subconscious or not. It’s viciously tempting to roll him over, ease into the sunnier side of the sheets and work his mouth open with his, sliding between the desert warmth of his thighs. But he doesn’t. There’s something oddly thrilling about the easy pace, something dangerously indulgent, and he doesn’t want to sever it. Not just yet.

“Tell me a secret,” Dorian says, rather close to his ear. 

Cullen can’t help laughing. “I’d have thought you’d be tried of secrets.”

Dorian’s touch slows, and Cullen suddenly worries he’s made a mistake, but the musical voice comes back again. “I’m tired of my own. Tell me one of yours.”

Cullen slides an arm under his side, wrapping a hand around his hip to feel the rhythm he’s setting better. It’s an almost indolent pace, and something about that is pooling low and warm beneath his stomach.

“What sort of secret?”

Dorian’s quiet for a moment, then finally edges his teeth against the taut line of his neck, “Have you done this before?” 

Cullen tries not to balk. “Look, I know Hawke made that joke about the chantry choir boys but that doesn’t mean—“

Dorian snorts, breathe warm in the corner of his neck. “Mm, not that.” His hand slides all too quickly, wrapping around Cullen’s solid erection with one deft stroke. “I mean with someone like me.”

Cullen swallows, trying not to let the sudden shift of attention pull him over the edge he’s decided he quite enjoys lingering along the cusp of. “I don’t think there’s anyone quite like you.”

He feels Dorian smile against his skin. It’s a small smile. As if he didn’t quite mean to let it loose. “You know what I mean.”

Cullen can’t help smiling himself. “Why so interested?”

“Mm,” Dorian hums, rolling his hips again and tightening his grip slightly. “When I was a little younger I used to fall asleep telling myself some very interesting stories about templars. I’m curious if they’re at all close to true.” He twists his wrist for emphasis.

Cullen can’t help letting out a soft huff at the feeling. 

“Just once.”

Dorian’s cock gives an interested pulse against his side. “Mm?”

“It wasn’t— it wasn’t anything remarkable. We were young.”

Dorian’s mouth opens against his neck against, only this time the warmth of his tongue is there along with it. “Continue.”

Cullen closes his eyes, letting his own hips start to rise and fall against the pace of Dorian’s grip. He’s remarkably good at that. Dangerously so. It makes Cullen wonder why on earth he’d ever even bother trying to do it himself again. 

“We couldn’t have been more than eighteen. I’d been with the order since I was very young. Hardly more than a boy. There wasn’t much time for… we all missed quite a bit of ordinary life.”

“Sounds terrible,” Dorian half-teases against his neck.

Cullen almost rolls his eyes, but he keeps going despite himself. There’s something about the sunlight and the smell on his skin that makes the words slip out all on their own.

“He caught my hand against the door on our way back to the arms room. I think it was more an accident than anything. But I didn’t let it go. Things seemed to happen very quickly. It wasn’t much of anything when I think back. Just two ridiculously stifled adolescents rutting behind a jammed door.”

“Gods,” Dorian swears, “even your stories are tame. Everything about you is so damnably pristine. Well…” his free hand snakes under Cullen’s neck, wrapping around to drag a finger lightly against the scar over his lip. “Almost everything.”

Cullen snatches his wrist. It only takes one quick motion to flip him onto his back again. He kisses him, hips slotting finally against his. Dorian’s lips are already just opened, as if he expect it, mouth all silk and jasmine. Magic, Cullen thinks idly. It’s a good kiss, deep and slow, and Cullen feels there’s something less self-conscious about the way he kisses him now, the morning light, with sleep still so close at hand.

It doesn’t take long for the pace of their hips to find something persistent and intentional. Dorian’s hand around his arse tugging him close probably has a good deal to do with it. Cullen drags his mouth down his neck, hands working up his sides. Dorian lets his head fall back, a soft sound fluttering from his open lips. Suddenly, Cullen finds he’s curious to see just how far this hazy lack of self-awareness will go. Dorian is normally all too intentional in his presentations, so is he himself come to think of it. But here, spread out against the dawn, there’s a comfort sunken into his limbs that makes him want to press away the outside world, strip away the everything and anything manufactured and see what’s left behind blinking in the early light. 

He adjusts his hips just enough to find Dorian’s cock in his hand between them, wrapping his fingers tight around it with a slow, long, pull.

Dorian gasps, hands tightening against him with sudden surprise. Cullen does it again and the gasp deepens into something throatier. There was a time when he’d worried that spending so much time gripping swords made his hands ill-suited for such things, but Dorian had groaned some smattering of words that suggested just the opposite the first time they’d done this.

Dorian’s hand finds the side of Cullen’s cheek, fingertips easing into his hair, and his thumb sliding along his jaw to find his lips, tracing that scar again. Cullen lets his mouth open, increasing the pace his hand has set. Dorian gives the slightest shudder when Cullen lightly takes his thumb between his teeth. And that just gives him a much better idea.

It only takes him a moment to slip further back, duck down, and open his mouth against his firm erection. He’s not sure if Dorian’s moan is more shocked or starved, but the immediacy and the need within it has him easing down to take as much of him as he can far sooner than he intended. Dorian’s hips buck up into him instantly and Cullen has to try not to choke, but the hips try to stifled themselves again just as quickly. Cullen digs his fingertips into the bones of his hips, urging him up with slower, steadily thrusts. 

He has a very strong suspicion that he isn’t even close to skilled where this sort of thing is concerned. He’s only ever done it once before with a man, and only received such a thing himself two more times than that. He knows it’s absurd and ridiculous but he finds himself pulling back, blush already rushing up his cheeks, his hand taking his place. A rather lost noise slips out of Dorian, sandy eyes peering down at him with frustrated curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen hears his own groggy voice grumble, “I’m not very good at it.”

Dorian actually laughs. Or rather it might have been a laugh if it didn’t sound so strained. His hand slips firmly into Cullen’s hair, easing him back towards him again. “Gods, you really have no idea do you?”

Cullen’s not exactly sure what to make of that, but he finds himself leaning his head against Dorian’s thigh, and with a sudden impulse he opens his mouth, and lets it drag, scar-side to skin, down towards Dorian’s cock against before lightly catching his skin with his teeth.

The noise Dorian makes then is thoroughly unexpected. It’s almost a whine, and utterly, utterly thoughtless. 

“Damn,” Cullen swears despite himself, doing it again.

Dorian’s hand goes painful-tight against his hair, hips jolting up into his grip in staggered thrusts as his head falls back, lips muttering something lost and heavy.

Cullen feels his own cock throb painfully against the end of the mattress, and the heat that’s been steadily glowing beneath his stomach suddenly flairs. He grabs Dorian’s hips and flips them again with a rushed clumsy motion.

Dorian’s startled, but just aware enough to manage to catch himself without tumbling over. Cullen slides under him, between his legs, hands on his arse easing him up towards his mouth again. Dorian’s left straddling his chest, hands by either side of his head.

Dorian actually seems rather lost, which is a fresh thrill sinking low and deep. Cullen darts forward, catching the tip of his cock with the flat of his tongue, hands sliding to his hips, urging him forward. A shaky breath shoots out of Dorian and he gives into it, rolling his hips fully into Cullen’s mouth. 

It’s a lot, almost too much, but Cullen leans back, trying to swallow rather than gag, wrapping his hand tight around him again. Dorian groans, voice deeper than usual. His hips arch, roll, press, again, and again. Cullen lets himself open to it, ease into the motion. It’s getting easier, and he actually tries to press his tongue tight to the bottom of him, which earns him a shocked moan and a shudder in Dorian’s hips. 

He’s viciously hard himself by now, and can’t help sliding his free hand between and behind Dorian’s thighs to wrap hilt-rough fingers around his own cock, matching the rhythm with heavy strokes. Dorian seems to notice, which, wether he means to or not, causes his hips to buck a little more erratically, both hands fisting into Cullen’s hair, breath jagged and ruined. 

Cullen can tell he’s close. At least he hopes he is, because he’s embarrassingly close himself, loosing control of his own pace. An impulse wraps around him, mind hazy against the tight, close, warmth of them and this. His hand leaves Dorian’s cock, urging him deeper into his mouth, and slides between his legs, dragging two fingers against his entrance.

That does it. A moan drags out of Dorian, rough and utterly careless. 

His hips roll with furious thrusts into Cullen’s mouth. Cullen swallows, letting himself roll with them, his hand jolting out a pace on himself. He dives his fingers into him and Dorian suddenly lets out a sharp yell. A shiver of electricity cascades off of him all at once, rippling all of Cullen’s skin into gooseflesh in one shocking motion. He hardly has time to notice before Dorian’s coming into his mouth with a shudder. Cullen holds him tight, the hum of whatever magic is oozing off to him slamming his own orgasm into him. The suddenness of it shocks him, his mouth falling open as his hand drags one pulse after another, and finally, with one shiver, it leaves him be.

Dorian sits back just above his hips with a sigh. Cullen lets his head fall onto the warm pillows, half-heartedly wondering if there’s still cider on the bedside table to manage the strange taste. He also wonders if his hair is standing on end.

Dorian rolls off go him, collapsing back into the sheets with a contented groan. “Not a terrible way to start the day.”

Cullen agrees. “No.”

Dorian rolls slowly to one side, peering back at him. He looks different in this light. Maybe it’s that he’s lacking his usual eye-liner and the copper toner under his cheekbones, or maybe it’s how his hair is pushed to one side entirley and he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“It doesn’t have to be just one morning,” Cullen tries, voice nervous he knows, even if he doesn’t mean it.

Dorian smiles back at him, sunlight easy against his skin. “No, no I suppose it doesn’t.”


End file.
